


The Size of Things

by miscreant_rose



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscreant_rose/pseuds/miscreant_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the wedding only a couple of weeks away, Mary is gathering up her final trousseau purchases in London when she has a surprise visitor - and a change in her evening's plans. One-off pre-honeymoon smut.  <strong>June 2013 Highclere Award winner!</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Size of Things

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The original inspiration for this prompt will have to remain mystery, but suffice to say, eventual joking in regards to "You know what they say about large shoes…" ensued and led to a smut-fic challenge.
> 
> Now, I will confess to writing fanfic for a variety of fandoms since, oh, well, when did Star Wars come out? No, the first one. The REAL first one. Yeah. But I've never shared or published any, though several did manage to inspire some original fic that made the rounds to contests, though I never bothered to submit for publication. And that intensive time of writing was a couple decades ago, so I'm having to brush off the cobwebs and limber up the fingers for this one. Huge thanks go out to nicky-nacky-noo and shiparker for their continued cries of "more, please!" when asked for feedback, and the most awesome beta ever, R. Grace.
> 
> Feedback always welcome, and we'll see if I can mange to continue to come up with future fics as these two are so damn much fun to write.

 

* * *

Mary hadn't really relished the idea of a shopping trip to Selfridges's, especially after a morning of following up with every dressmaker and boutique on the list for outfitting her trousseau. But Lady Charlotte Lucas had insisted, pointing out that a leisurely stroll-through could assure Mary that she had indeed checked off everything she needed for her trousseau and honeymoon.

But right now, Charlote was enraptured by the selection of shoes, and all Mary could think about was her aching feet, and that she desperately wished they could head out for their promised tea.

Sighing as she realized catching Charlotte's attention at the moment was a lost cause, she turned to wander across the aisle and spotted a case of men's leather goods. A colorful array of driving gloves topped the case, and she smiled, thinking how Matthew had been talking about getting a car of his own. Stroking her finger across the buttery tan of one pair, she decided it might just be a perfect little gift.

Mary was pouring over the selection of gloves with the clerk when Charlotte sidled up beside her. "Now that is something different for the honeymoon."

Mary shot her a quick look before turning back to the clerk, and pointed at the pale tan pair that had first caught her eye. "These, I think."

"Certainly, madam. And the size?"

She hesitated, realizing she had no idea of the glove sizing for Matthew. She placed her own slender hand next to the pair on the case, comparing the size against hers, and recalling the size of Matthew's hand to hers. "Hm, no, a size or two larger, I believe."

As the clerk turned to fetch the proper size and color, Charlotte picked up the glove Mary had been looking at. "So Mr. Crawley has large hands does he?"

Mary turned and looked at Charlotte and the sly grin she had on her face as she played with putting on the very large and masculine looking glove on her own hand. "Stop it."

Charlotte looked up at her and blinked innocently. "What? I was just commenting. Though, now that you mention it," she put the glove back down on the case and grinned back at Mary, "what was it we heard Madame de Courtenay say regarding the size of a gentleman's hands and feet when we were supposed to be preparing for our debut?"

"That they require appropriately sized gloves and shoes, I imagine." She was trying very hard not to rise to Charlotte's bait at the moment, remembering full well the conversation she and Charlotte had overheard that afternoon and how they had spent the rest of their first season less than discreetly laughing about as they made the rounds to various balls and through a multitude of gentlemen for dance partners. Hands and feet, indeed.

Charlotte just chuckled as Mary made her decision and purchased the gloves. As the clerk handed over the slim bag with the elegantly wrapped box inside, Charlotte slipped her arm through Mary's elbow. "Come on, you need a stiff cup of tea to recover your cheeky side. Besides, as a woman married less than a year, I am in perfect standing to share some newlywed advice. Who knows, perhaps I have stories that could make Madame de Courtenay blush."

* * *

Mary had expected tea to be nearly as tiring as shopping, but was surprised to find that, once ensconced in a quiet corner of the hotel's dining room, an easy and familiar camaraderie between them settled in. So much time had passed since they first met during their debut season — two opposites with Mary the eldest child of her family, smooth and confident, and Charlotte, the youngest, lost in the shadow of brilliant older siblings, painfully shy and awkward. But thrown together then, they discovered they shared sharp tongues and even sharper wits. Bits of the other had rubbed of and bolstered each other then, and in the following years, though war had separated them and changed both of them dramatically, they were once again confidants, relaxed laughter erasing the distance years had created.

Mary watched Charlotte's expression as she talked of her new husband, noting the flush to her cheeks and the way her eyes shone. Her love was so clearly etched across her features, Mary wondered if she looked that way as she spoke of Matthew. She wanted to be able to speak of him that way, to speak to him with such openness and familiarity about everything, of all he stirred up in her. She was so impatient now with all this wedding planning. The moments they were able to steal alone together each week were hardly enough, and she knew that it was because somewhere deep down, she was terrified that everything would fall to pieces again and they would lose each other. She longed for them to just be married so that she could truly know those intimacies and the connection of a love fully shared — the same love she saw reflected in Charlotte's eyes.

With the shifting of the late afternoon sun through the small bank of windows, they gathered their coats and prepared for goodbyes until the wedding. Exiting the dinning room foyer, Mary looked up in surprise as she saw Matthew walking through the lobby of the hotel, a smile spreading across his face as he spotted her.

"Matthew! What are you doing here?"

He gently took her hand, bending to press a light kiss on her cheek. "Looking for you."

A dull panic began to bubble up inside her, threatening to chase away the lighter and more dizzying feeling of seeing him. "Why? What's wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong, darling. I only had some business that gave me the excuse to come down to London and see if I couldn't catch a moment with you as well."

"Oh." She stared at him for a moment longer, losing herself once again in those blue eyes, and felt herself grow warm as she realized that perhaps, just perhaps, he was having the same feelings of impatience as well. She managed to smile and break away from his gaze. "Matthew, I don't believe you've ever had the chance to meet Lady Charlotte Lucas. Charlotte, my fiancé, Matthew Crawley."

Charlotte flashed one of her dazzling smiles as Matthew took her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crawley, I've heard so many interesting things about you from Mary."

Mary noticed Matthew's hand seemed to swallow Charlotte's delicate one in its polite grip. All long fingers and breadth of palm. She swallowed as she caught Charlotte's gaze dropping for the merest second to their joined hands before then quickly lifting again to glance at Mary with a challenging sparkle, the smallest hint of a smirk at the corner of her smile.

Blood rushed to Mary's cheeks as she looked away, only to find herself distracted by Matthew's shoes. Rich brown leather buffed to a perfect shine, and suddenly seeming … huge.

Charlotte was suddenly kissing Mary's flaming cheeks with a gentle squeeze to her shoulders. "Now then, remember what we talked about?" she winked and grinned cheekily at Mary. "We will see you in a few weeks, so don't loose tha,t lovely blush."

Mary was wrong if she thought it was impossible for her cheeks to grow any warmer. She controlled her desire to glare at Charlotte and, instead, murmured a polite goodbye and sent her regards to her husband.

Matthew watched as Charlotte passed through the grand front doors of the hotel. "So, Lady Charlotte…" He turned to Mary with a raised brow. She nodded. "Exhausted?"

Mary blew out a chuckle. "Yes, and now you understand why."

Matthew offered her his arm, "Well, let's see if we can revive you. May I escort you back to Rosamund's? Do you have everything?" He looked inquisitively at her purse and the single small bag from Selfridge's. "That can't be all from a day of shopping."

"No, everything is being delivered to Aunt Rosamund's tomorrow for the trip back to Downton. This was just a…" She paused and bit her lip. "Just an impulse purchase this afternoon."

Matthew raised his brows. "Sounds promising." A hint of a wicked smile tugged at his lips. "Is it for me?"

Mary slipped her hand through his proffered elbow, ignoring his remark. She leaned slightly against him for a moment before he guided her out to a waiting cab. "I'm going to need reviving for this evening. Aunt Rosamund is parading me out to another dinner." Her brow furrowed, "I can't believe you came all this way and I can't spend any time with you."

Matthew slid into the cab after her, folding his long legs in beside Mary as he gave the driver the address. He grinned at her and took her hand, "Oh, don't worry, I think perhaps you can. And, you may be pleased to find out you have plans for a much smaller dinner party tonight, with plenty of time to lavish on me." There was no mistaking the intently mischievous glint to his gaze.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, just that I had to stop by Aunt Rosamund's earlier to be sure of the hotel where you were having tea, and I may have changed your dinner plans for you. Of course, that is if you don't mind a quiet dinner out with me?"

* * *

"So this is where we will start our honeymoon?"

Matthew's voice was soft and rich, much like the dimness of the drawing room lit only by the fire and the glow of the sunset through the windows. Mary turned and gave him a sly look. "Yes, but will we be blessed with a house as quiet as it is now?" It was that witching hour when the servants were at their tea and Rosamund was resting before her evening plans.

"A quiet house? Why on earth would you wish for a quiet house during our honeymoon?" He laughed as she quickly turned away, heading over to the drink cart.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, I want to know what my present is."

"What present?"

"Oh, the one you had with your in the bag this afternoon." He grinned wickedly at her. "It is for me, isn't it?"

Mary laughed, "Are you always this childish about presents?"

"Well, if they are from you." His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her in close. "Please?" he whispered in a velvet voice that made the heat rise in her cheeks. She tried half-heartedly to push away from him, but enjoyed the feeling of his arm around her too much to really want to step away. "I mean, I have the box right here." He slipped the slim, black box from behind his back.

"Matthew, how did you…"

He leaned in to kiss her cheek quickly before releasing her. "You were distracted with your coat." He backed over to settle in one of the over-sized chairs and turned the box over in his hand. "Please? I don't want to wait."

She shook her head at the impish look in his pale eyes. Settling on the sofa across from him, she tossed her hands up in surrender. "Fine, I give up. I'm never going to be able to tell you when I've bought you a gift ever again."

He reached out for her, "Come help me," and pulled her onto his lap, his arms coming around her as he untied the sleek ribbon and lifted the cover off the box.

Sitting in the circle of his arms, Mary watched his face closely for his reaction and felt herself smiling as widely as he was as he pulled out the soft leather gloves. He lifted his face to hers and her breath caught at the look of sheer delight in his eyes.

"Darling, they are perfect!"

"Do they fit?"

He slipped one on and flexed his fingers before grinning up at her again. "Like a glove."

They laughed, and he pulled on the other one, letting the box slide away with a soft thud onto the thick carpet, more intent on catching one of her hands in his leather-covered fingers, the other coming up to stroke across her cheek. Mary sighed at the rich silkiness of his gloved fingers against her skin and leaned her head into Matthew's palm, catching a whiff of the rich scent of the fresh leather. She turned her head and pressed a kiss into his palm as he pulled her closer.

"A kiss for the glove but not for me?"

She cocked a brow at him, realizing that her hands were playing over his jacket collar. It would be so easy to slip her fingers back and up into his hair. She met his gaze again, glimpsing more than playfulness there. _This_ , her heart seemed to sigh, a desperate beat to freeze this moment, that look, the feeling of his arms around her. One of her hands trailed up to begin tracing patterns over his lips as the other curled into the hair at the back of his neck. She felt his gentle sigh against her fingertips and bent to replace them with her lips.

Just a soft brush, a chance to once again marvel at the softness of his lips and feel, for a moment, the warmth of him. But then the scent of him, clean and rich with hints of his aftershave, tempted her closer. So maybe, just a taste — one small taste to satisfy her need for him, her overwhelming want to just _be_ and stay here … forever. Ever so carefully, she parted her lips the slightest bit, catching his between and running her tongue gently across them.

This provoked a far from gentle reaction as she felt Matthew's body, all solid and strong and masculine, tremble beneath her. It was only a moment though before his hands moved across her back, down her hip and leg, more insistently as his mouth opened in answer to hers. One taste, one feel, one breath of him was not enough, would never be enough, and she knew that as she let herself melt into him, one hand lost in silky soft hair, the other tracing back and forth along that line where skin and shirt collar met.

She wondered how long one kiss could last, but when it was laced with hope and promises and what almost wasn't, she had no intention of letting it end. She was learning every angle and curve of his lips, the feel of his skin, the maddening mix of soft and hints of roughness from end-of-the-day stubble. She settled in deeper against him, smiling as she caught the slight jump of his ribs as her fingers danced across a spot behind his earlobe. When she decided to test the spot with her lips, she was rewarded with the catch of his breath and arch of his neck. She nuzzled along his jaw even as his hand worked its way back up her leg, pushing the hem of her dress with it. His tentative brush of leather-tipped fingers at the top of her stockings gained him a nip at the base of his throat before her lips found their way to his again, sighing into him a soft hum of pleasure.

It was the softest of whispers, but in the dusk-kissed room it echoed under her fingers and lips and blocked out everything else. "Oh Mary, darling, I love you."

She smiled, not sure her heart would ever stop soaring from the joy of him as she brushed her lips over his. "And I you," she breathed into him. "So much. So very, very much."

Smooth leather moved up to curve around her neck as her lips settled on his once again, and the fingers that had been dancing so lightly over her thigh pulled her in closer as leather clasped the bare skin of her hip and curve of her bottom. Letting herself fall into the dizzying taste of him, she could feel his own very evident desire pushing at her other hip, and she couldn't help but smile into him. His mouth began a sure and steady journey from her lips to her jaw, down the column of her throat, and lower as his other hand found the shoulder fastening on her dress and pushed the fabric away. She somehow managed to remember to breathe, the air feeling so cool against her flushed cheeks as she cradled his head close to her.

It was more than just her head spinning now. Her entire body yielded, searching, wanting to be even closer to him. His lips and tongue traced hungry circles over her collarbone, and his gloved hand pressed harder and higher on the curve of her bottom. Fingers twining fiercely in his hair, she let herself fall, wishing this would never stop. It mustn't ever stop. Her lips began to take up the chant of her desire, and she breathed out a soft _"Don't st—,"_ before she realized and caught herself.

She felt, more than heard, him let out a soft groan, suddenly stiffening and shifting under her, lips parting from skin, sweat-tinged forehead pressing against her neck as he eased the grip of his now shaking hands on her. "God, I'm sorry, Mary, I shouldn't. I didn't mean —"

Hands now on his cheeks, she tilted his head up so she could kiss him once again. Soft and gentle, its intent was anything but. She pressed her forehead to his, catching her breath before she sighing, "Please? I don't want to wait."

She felt the shock of her whisper echoing his earlier plea course through him, and he jerked his head back to stare at her. She lifted her head, watching the dark expression in his eyes, that same one that was burning inside her. Impatience, desire, need. Her fingers raked through his hair and smoothed across the lines of concern on his brow.

"Don't tease me, Mary." He voice danced at the edge of a low growl.

"I'm not. I wouldn't." She held his gaze, letting her thumb brush over his full lips, now reddened. Swallowing hard, she fought to share her words in more than a whisper. "Sometimes, don't you think that we've waited long enough?" She struggled to keep her voice from breaking, "Or too long, and if —"

There was no finishing her thought as his mouth claimed hers again, and then he was lifting her. A step, two, and then she was across the length of the sofa, Matthew above her as their hands pulled at each other's clothing. No words now, no gentle teasing. Instead, it was all need and missed opportunities and years that had slipped away from them. All the emotions that had built up and each had tried so hard to bury came crashing through, and Mary breathed an almost-sob as she realized all of this could have been lost.

As mouths continued to taste, nip, and sigh, hands began a new journey of exploration. They ventured to places previously uncharted, pausing to circle and worship discoveries that would elicit a soft gasp or moan. Lips ventured out further, lower, adding new sensations to the discoveries. Flushed skin radiated heat, sighs encouraged, brown eyes would catch blue, and each would be lost in that perfect moment of just this, this need of the one for the other, of learning new sensations that became one shared between them both. Legs tangled, smooth alabaster skin learning to glide against the rasp of crisp blond hairs, Mary let her fingers trace every bit of him, lower and lower, until she held the heat of him in her hands.

She swallowed his answering moan with hungry lips before opening her eyes again to stare into his. Any doubts or fears she'd had at the touch of him were eased with the desire and adoration she saw reflected in those darkened depths. She stroked over him again as his own hands grazed over her hip and then her thigh, pulling her leg higher over his so he could brush gentle fingers over the silken skin of her inner thigh, their gaze never breaking. She shivered slightly and felt a soft cry catch at the back of her throat as his warm hand gently parted her, stroking at first hesitantly against her moist heat, but them more steadily as she felt herself warm and open to him even more.

Neither could say how long they were there, face to face, lips a mere whisper apart, gazes fixed to each other's and hands drawing out the center of need and want. The tips of Mary's breasts just brushed against the scattering of hair on Matthew's chest as she moved, and it only added to the building need within her. Her leg hooked more tightly over his, trying to pull him closer as her hips began to push against his circling fingers. The heat had now spread and was a consuming fire of want coursing through her, causing her breath to come in ragged gasps as she moved instinctively, her body entering a dance she didn't even realize she knew. All of it was flooding through her so quickly, filling her, and yet leaving her wanting as she moved again and again. The warmth grew to a tingling that, without warning, became a wave of jolting pleasure, pushing and pulling her as she cried out against Matthew's mouth.

Lost in the bliss of a suddenly limp and sated body, she was only vaguely aware of Matthew moving over her, her own legs opening to welcome him, and his gentle but insistent push against her. The abrupt pinch made her gasp, but his mouth, warm and wet on hers, eased her to relax. And slowly, slowly, she understood the need, the fullness she had longed for even at the height of her pleasure. Her arms wrapped around him, and her legs came up to circle him as well. She felt him even deeper, more perfectly, and her laughing cry of delight mixed with his deep groan of satisfaction.

Weight, pressure, movement, heat — all of it encompassing her as she tried to hold on to the feel of it all, but each second was more perfect than the last as they moved together. Sweat and desire made skin slick, and hot breaths seared necks with promises of what this was. Her fingernails pressed gently up and down the line of his spine as she hummed her utter bliss in holding him, all of him, with every bit of her being. She could taste the salt on his skin now as her mouth latched on to that curve where neck joined shoulder, and she felt him strain. A new tingling, something deeper, fiercer, was building deep down inside her, and she pushed back with the cadence of his movements, aching once again for that release.

Faster and steadier, they moved together until his body tensed above hers, jerking unsteadily. His cry was warm against the hollow of her neck, as was his gasp against her jaw, as suddenly he was pushing deeper, deeper, and faster. Another cry against her neck turned into a moan as he shuddered above her. Ever so softly, his sweaty forehead pressed to her temple as his body convulsed and stilled, his breath against her ear like a prayer. "Oh god, _Mary!_ "

But she was lost, still searching, still moving beneath him. More … _more more more_. It had to be there. Arms and legs grasped even tighter as she whimpered against his shoulder, her hips still writhing in desperate rhythm against him. He needed to be closer to her … _more more more …._ Not stopping, it had to be…

His hand stroked up her side, finding her breast, thumb gently stroking across the sensitive nipple as she tossed helplessly beneath him. "Shhh, love, let go, let go," he panted against her jaw, his lips and tongue trailing a path along that sensitive place. Let go what? Let go where? She caught her breath, feeling the tension in every fiber of her body. With a frustrated sob, she blew away the tension, released her frantic clinging, but her hips still moved against him, a slick circle of desire.

Suddenly she was falling. She heard herself breathe out a loud, " _Oh!_ " of surprise as she fell. No, not falling — flying, soaring into her body as a wave of sensation rocked her core and spread through her, settling into the tips of her toes, the fingers that clutched at Matthew's shoulders, her cheeks. Even her very eyelashes, now laced with sudden tears, seemed to sing and soar with that exquisite feeling, something beyond pleasure, beyond perfection. Then she was breathlessly crying out again, her back arching, her head tossed back as all that bliss seemed to land with an electric force that made her shudder and buck beneath him. She gasped to catch her breath, stunned to find herself so suddenly aware of her body, so tied back into herself. Matthew's shoulder was just above her mouth as he was trailing kisses along her cheek, one hand cradling the back of her neck, and other still gently cupped around her breast. "Matthew!" she breathed in wonder and shock, aware that she was suddenly trying to hold him closer even as he was still inside of her, still filling her.

His lips traced over hers, and she drank in his taste again, wondering if she could ever get enough of it. He pressed his forehead to hers, and she blinked, suddenly aware that she could see, and lost herself in the endless blue of his eyes looking into hers.

"All right?" he asked softly, his hand coming up to stroke long fingers across her cheek.

She puffed out a breath that turned into a chuckle. "Yes, I think so." She nodded into him and chuckled again. "No, more than that!"

He brushed his nose against hers and dropped another gentle kiss on her lips. "I think I know what you mean." She closed her eyes and lost herself the deep vibration of his voice in his chest caressing her where they were pressed together.

They remained entangled in each other as as pulses and breaths began to slow and the cool of the room settled against the heat of their skin. Mary let her fingers continue to trace circles across the skin of his back, still not quite willing to let go of the feeling of him under her hands, of him on her, in her. She hummed a sigh of pleasure and attempted to snuggled herself even closer to him. He chuckled, wrapping his arms under her, and carefully shifted them to their sides, raining a series of light kisses across her brow and down her cheek.

"I must say, you make quite the _aperitif_."

"Worked up an appetite?"

"Yes," he replied with a wolfish grin, leaning in to suckle that spot low on her throat he had discovered. "An appetite for more. And," he moved his mouth to hers, capturing her upper lip in a slow, deep kiss before finishing, "extremely intoxicating."

She smiled under his mouth, "I think I might have to say the same of you."

"Mmmm," he hummed against her. "But, alas, I don't think we are properly attired for before-dinner cocktails." He shifted against her soft protests and pulled her up into his arms, holding her to him with one arm as he began to reach for the nearest bits of their clothing with the other. Their dressing was a bit slower than their disrobing had been, and peppered with kisses just a bit more chaste.

Matthew chuckled as he knotted his tie. "One room off the honeymoon list."

She looked up at him suddenly as she understood his meaning. "Matthew!" She playfully slapped at his shoulder before trying to tuck in another loose strand of her hair.

"Well, it is a fairly large house, and, my darling, there is much more of you I need to discover and give closer inspection to." She squeaked and tried to swat at him as his hand suddenly poked at her waist and tickled across her belly. "There are many more things for us both to discover."

"Really?" She gave up her struggle and pressed herself closer to him. "What sort of things?"

"All sorts of things," he breathed, and his mouth captured hers once again.


End file.
